Pin the Lie and Call it a Truth
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Over the years, Draco Malfoy has found that chess isn’t nearly as interesting as he first made it out to be. Now, he has to reconsider, for he’s found that chess can be most interesting – if played with the right person.


**Pin the Lie and Call it a Truth**

**AN: this is,**

**-FOR ****renesmeeblack333****, who told me I could not be the Queen of Harry Potter fanfiction unless I had a Draco/Ron one-shot – **

**She said, and I ****quote: "Hi! Your stories are amazing!! But I saw that you only wrote one Ron/Draco and that makes me sad because I love them together. So if you could be a doll and do a love/yaoi story (or one-shot) about them (different than your  
other one) I would seriously cry and deem you as the Queen of Harry Potter  
fanfiction, you are almost there now ;)"**

– **so cry and deem me as the Queen of Harry Potter fanfiction love, because this one's for you !**

**WARNING: this is rated T, but there's a reference to sex ^^**

Over the years, Draco Malfoy has found that chess isn't nearly as interesting as he first made it out to be.

Now, after years of practicing with friends, relatives, and the occasional stranger, he has to admit that his theory needs to be adjusted, just a slight bit. As it turned out, chess can be quite intriguing, if played with the right person.

Ever since that discovery, Draco plays almost every day. And every day, he plays with the same person – the one that has caught Draco's eye from the very start, and now he refuses to let go.

"Bishop to E five," he watches as his companion's piece glides forward on the marble board, slaughtering his own white knight.

Ron gives a little victory grin, even though he is usually very serious about chess. To the redhead, it is a very serious game, and he likes playing it because, Draco supposes, it is one thing he is very good at, without having to try all too hard. Chess, so it seems, comes natural to him.

"I hate it when you do that," Draco eyes the board critically, coming to the conclusion that there is no possible counter-attack that will claim one of Ron's pieces in return for his own.

"What?" Ron's amber eyes glister with mirth, as if he already knows what the blonde is going to say – and it makes him smile prematurely.

"Winning," he moves a piece of his own, giving the trademark Malfoy smirk, "because it evidently means that I'm losing."

"You get better every time," Ron promises, a teasing glint in his eye – Draco wants to retaliate, as it's become a common joke between them, rousing each other with words no other could understand, unabashed references to their bedroom activities, as it had been not four hours ago when Draco had whispered against the freckled skin, _'damn Ronald, you get better every time'_ – reminding the blonde of thick air and hushed moans.

As it is, they are interrupted by Draco's mother coming into the room, not even knocking. She feigns ignorance of her own rudeness, and laces up her coat as she regards them with mild curiosity.

"Draco, the house-elves seem to have misplaced our towels, and your father needs one, may he borrow yours?"

"Of course mother," Draco pushes himself up to his feet, studying Ronald, then his mother – distrustful, knowing it is a mere trick to talk to the redhead – before leaving for his bathroom, "I will be right back."

As soon as he is gone, Narcissa turns to the other boy, lounging on the carpet by the chessboard. Her eyes flare dangerously, yet she tries to sound polite, acting as if nothing is off.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself?" it's too brisk, but Ron smiles because he's used to this by now – how many times has he played this game with Draco's mother? How many times will she ask him, again and again, even though she knows he will continue to lie?

"Very much, thank you misses Malfoy," he inclines his head to show her his respect, remembering that she is a vain woman – she is at her best behaviour when her ego is being stroked, and it's what helps Ron through their conversations.

"You're not..." she pauses for emphasis, "doing anything improper up here, I hope?"

"Of course not," it's sugary sweet, as if no dirty thought has ever crossed Ron's head – not after all this time – and they both know that the smile alone is bitter poison, _so untrue_, "we've just been playing chess."

She nods, and averts her eyes when her son comes back from the bathroom, towel in his hand. With a quick peck to the boy's pale cheek she disappears again – no goodbye to Ron, and he knows she knows he lies. She never forgives him, but Ron doesn't want her forgiveness – he wants Draco, the end.

"What did she say this time?" Draco flops down next to the redhead, ignoring the chessboard – instead he moves to straddle the broad back, setting his hands to work on relieving some of the tension in the boy's taut shoulders, slipping underneath the confines of his red shirt.

"Oh, she was just wondering why two strapping lads like ourselves weren't dating each other," Ron plays his part well – they know why Draco's mother was there, but they ignore it and make it into something of their own – Draco chooses to be blind to his mother's disapproval, because he wants nothing as much as he wants Ron, and it says enough, "she seems to think we should try it, and I wondered, why is it again, that we don't date?"

Draco makes room to let Ron turn onto his back, staring up at the blonde, eyes bright – they've done this many times, but being this close, never grows boring. The blonde shifts slightly in Ron's lap, placing his hands on the jutting of his hips.

"Why Ron," he smirks, licking his lips deviously, "dating would require this," he leans forward and kisses Ron's revealed neck, nipping lightly, "and of course," he purrs, licking the skin – making Ron gasp softly, "we don't do that."

"Of course not," Ron shakes his head in agreement, his fist curling into the carpet when Draco's lips go a-sliding.

"And of course, we don't do this either," he bites the freckled collarbone, nibbling until the spot turns dark-red – a mark of ownership, plain and proper.

"Mhm," the redhead nods, and brings a hand up to cup Draco's head, eyes locking – pure fire, as they've always been, and it's gorgeous to be in that moment.

"We don't kiss either, obviously," Draco grins it off, before tilting his face to Ron's – the kiss is just a brush of their lips, not meant to play, but to provoke, and Ron rises to the bait, turning it passionate – before he can lose himself, Draco pulls back, grin still in place.

"Tell me Draco," Ron sounds out-of-breath – this is one game he never wins, for it comes natural to Draco, he is good at it, without having to try all too hard, "what else, don't we do?"

Draco knows there is no such thing like his mother insinuating they should date – it exists only in their heads, this certain freedom they pretend to have. But it doesn't matter.

Because, yes, Draco has found that chess is interesting. But painting Ronald Weasley's skin with his lips, is far more interesting.

**AN: the last line is a shameless reference to a story of mine, 'Paint my skin with your lips' my first Ron/Draco, multi-chaptered and sexy as hell 3**

**Because I'm just that kind of person, really ^-^**

**I hope you all liked, feedback is much appreciated.**


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